


Everything I Never Liked About You (Is Seeping Into Me)

by DarlingNikki



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Manipulation, Firenze | Florence, Future Fic, Gift Giving, M/M, Post-Hannibal, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingNikki/pseuds/DarlingNikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with Will receiving a package on his doorstep.  A small brown box, with postage from Italy.  He doesn't think anything of it, until he opens it.  Inside a small glass bottle of bottle of aftershave sits nestled in shredded brown paper. </p>
<p>This is a post canon AU taking place after all of the books.  Clarice and Hannibal do not swan off into the sunset together.  Instead Hannibal goes off alone, and sends Will a package that spurs him to find Hannibal again.  He's not sure what he's going to do when he finds him, but he is going to do so.  Hannibal keeps sending him little gifts along the way, taunting him, insulting Will's sartorial choices, making Will even more determined to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Package

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fictionalfaerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalfaerie/gifts).



> I blame FictionalFaerie for everything. She gets all the blame for this. Just so we are clear here. She started this, and it is all her fault.
> 
> Title is from another Nine Inch Nails song, Down In It. I have a problem okay? That's why I keep naming my fics after NIN song titles.
> 
> This is a WIP. This is also all I've actually written of it so far. Reviews and kudos are hella encouraging, so if you'd like to see more please let me know. That is my main reason for posting it now. I'm hoping that you will help me find the motivation to actually finish this. I will let you know that I have a full outline for once in my life and I know where this is in fact going, so that's not an issue.

It starts with Will receiving a package on his doorstep. A small brown box, with postage from Italy. He doesn't think anything of it, until he opens it. Inside a small glass bottle of bottle of aftershave sits nestled in shredded brown paper. Will looks at it, then slowly picks it up, and opens the lid. According to the handwritten label on the bottle the aftershave smells of cedar and marjoram with a hint of sandalwood and citrus. It smells a little like home to Will. It reminds him of a bright kitchen well organized and meticulous and the man who was his only friend before he found out about his extracurricular activities. Setting the bottle to the side, he notices a heavy vellum card lying in the box where the bottle had previously rested.

The card feels smooth and heavy in Will's hands. He opens the card apprehensively and sees the elegant stokes of copperplate handwriting. The message is unsigned, but like so much of Hannibal, this is something Will will never forget.

"Let's play a game of hide and seek."

* * *

Will doesn't sleep. He tosses and turns and sweats through three shirts in quick succession. The massive stag that was once a constant in his dreams and hallucinations, watches him silently from the corner of his bedroom the entire night. In the morning, he books a seat for himself on the next flight going to Italy. He knows he's playing right into Hannibal's hands, dancing to his tune, but Will cannot help himself. He has to see Hannibal again, and there is no one in his life left to talk him out of this.

He leaves his car in long term parking unlocked with the keys in the ignition. No matter what happens he knows he won't come back for it. Let someone take it, he doesn't care. His neighbor takes his dog, and looks confused when Will explains he probably won't be back.

Walking through the terminal is like sleepwalking. He follows the stag. It's prancing like its eager weaving through the weary throngs of fellow travelers. He looks no one in the eye. Eyes still show too much, not enough, and the sensation is too jarring for Wills psyche even after all the years away from the FBI and monsters they had him hunt. He doesn't want to be consumed by other people's petty daily woes. He has his own hollow eyed demons to chase him through life.

He's seated next to a plump matronly woman. She smiles brightly at Will as he takes his seat. He nods at her, hoping that will be enough to appease her. He is as bad at dealing with people as he's always been. Social conventions have confused him since he was a small boy and couldn't understand why no one believed him when he tried to explain the the man who lived two houses down from his family had a young girl chained in his basement. His meager carry on bag contains the only items he brought with him, a few sets of clothes, his computer, the aftershave, and the card.

He's going to bring Hannibal back to justice or die in the attempt. He's not even completely sure which outcome he prefers. He just wants this to end one way or another. He is sick of how Hannibal feels like a chapter of his life left unfinished. It will end one way or another.

He simply cannot continue on jumping at shadows waiting for the knife to fall. Waiting for Hannibal to just walk in his house with his quiet smile and calm voice to finish the murder he attempted. The curving scar on his side itches. It is from when he finally realized what his closest friend actually was. The day that Hannibal tried to kill him in his lavish office. Sometimes it aches, and he knows a storm will blow in. There's a particular feeling to that ache, and this isn't it, but he wonders all the same if this is a feeling to warn him of another type of storm looming on the horizon.

He has been lacking an anchor for years now. Will is older and no wiser for it. He is just slightly careworn around the edges where life has left him unable to cope anymore. This is an act of desperation, and Will is disillusioned. He is almost certain the outcome of this fool's task will be his death, but he isn't even sure if he wants to keep living in the spaces he has left. He has no friends beyond his dog. He rarely leaves his house, he doesn't sleep well, he doesn't eat. He is a shell waiting for an end.

* * *

The woman in the seat beside him speaks gently with another bright grin, "I'm so excited to get to go to Rome, it's always been a dream of mine.” Will lifts his eyes and looks at her forehead. It makes people less uncomfortable if he looks like he's meeting their eyes, even if he really isn't. He nods in response, hoping all the while that she will just let him sit alone and think. She continues, “So what are you traveling for? Business or pleasure?” 

His voice is raspy from disuse when he replies, “Business. I'm traveling to resolve some old business.”

“That's nice, young man,” she looks him up and down, “this is my first vacation since my husband's death. I'm looking forward to discovering life after him.” Will makes a noncommittal noise, and lays his head back and closes his eyes. He is not interested.

Will's musings do not end, but all the same eventually after closing his eyes, his dreams pull him under.

He is floating in the sea. He can taste the salty tang of the warm water. It is dark, but he can see the faint light of a ship in the distance. All paths will lead to the ship, no matter which way he goes he will reach that light.

He doesn't know if he wants to see what's waiting for him there.

He knows it won't be happy.

He swims toward it anyway. It seems as if no time at all passes in the space between deciding to go to it and arriving. He looks back, and the stag is silently following him. It snorts and nudges his shoulder encouraging him to look upon the sight before him.

It isn't a ship waiting for him. This isn't what he expected. It's his old home from Wolf Trap suspended on the water, looking as peaceful as when he'd initially bought it. The current pushes him straight to the front steps.

Walking inside is like taking a step back into the past. Nothing looks changed, even though Will knows he broke that vase when he left.

He was happy here once.

Will drifts through the doorway that leads to the kitchen. It doesn't lead there, instead he walks into the quiet elegance of Hannibal's Baltimore practice.

He is there. Sitting at the desk, Hannibal is there like nothing happened, like he isn't the Chesapeake Ripper, like he didn't break Will's heart and mind in one crystallized realization.

Monstrous horns sprout from his head, a crown, lending a hellish cast to his shadow. Nightmares are made manifest in his eyes, the color of old blood, dried tacky on the floor. His mouth is art in a razor blade, smiling full of teeth, and he stands from the desk and steps closer invading Will's space. Will is pressed flush into the ladder, anxiously running his palms up and down the ladder trying to press further away. He is back to being a victim when he thought he'd left that behind. He is a moth pinned to glass under Hannibal's careful scrutiny.

"Dear Will, how have you been? Do you miss me?" 

Closer still, his words are a warm breath on Will's face. Will shudders and continues to try to inch farther away. There is no answer for those questions, not that he can acknowledge and admit. Not that he can stand to contemplate without losing little pieces and parts of himself. But he is trapped, he can't get farther away, and Hannibal just slides closer with every centimeter Will gains. 

Hannibal lowers his head and touches his lips to Will's. It's just a gentle brush of lips, an entirely chaste kiss, but Will can hear the blood beating from his heart and he is drowning. The waves crash over his head, and the undertow pulls him under. Hannibal is gone, like he dissipated into smoke, and Will fights his way to the surface.

He looks across the sea he's floating in, and realizes, it isn't water. The sea is bright red, freshly spilled blood.

He wakes gasping for air; his hair matted with sweat.

His seat mate glances over, sniffs in disdain, and goes back to watching the inflight movie. Will is thoroughly embarrassed. He hopes the flight will end soon.

He spends the remainder of the flight staring at a book, but not comprehending a single word in front of him.

As soon as the sign saying you can unbuckle the seatbelt flashes, Will is undoing it and grabbing his bag. He's unsettled from the nightmare he had and ready to be finally off the plane. Ready to start his search even though, he has no plan, no hotel to base his operations from, and no clues other than a brief note and a bottle of cologne.

For whatever reason, he is playing Hannibal's game -- on Hannibal's turf, by Hannibal's rules. Will is fairly certain that he's going to lose, even though he will eventually find Hannibal, but that will be by Hannibal's design.

Being able to move after being stuck in a seat for hours is chasing away the last mental cobwebs from Will’s nightmare on the plane. He goes through immigration and customs without hassle. It is surprisingly easy. The international arrivals area is busy. There are several people standing with signs with people’s names on them. The families and friends reuniting after time apart look absolutely blissful; he can see happy smiles and joyful tears being exchanged. He’s never had a reunion like that in his entire life, unless you count his dogs. A distant part of Will wonders how it would make him feel, for him to feel that, not filtered through experiencing someone else’s emotions, but organically and wholly his alone.

He’s not sure, most of the emotions that have been only his, have been universally negative. From the pain and sheer mind numbing terror that realizing that Hannibal was truly a monster had brought him, to the bittersweet knowledge that he would always be alone, even in a crowd, when he was a teenager and couldn’t make friends or have any sort of healthy relationship with his peers. Eventually he learned to make his otherness into armor, but the bitter sting of loneliness was always present beneath.

It doesn't matter anyway. Will is content in the knowledge that he has an expiration date and it is getting closer with every step he takes in the messed up game that Hannibal has him playing. He glances through the names on the placards. One catches his eye, because printed in neat block letters, is his own name, Will Graham.

Panic doesn't begin to describe the feelings that hit him. His stomach lurches like he left it two steps behind him. His breathing stops, then starts, but no matter how hard he's breathing, he's not getting enough oxygen and he's becoming dizzy. His palms are disgustingly slick with sweat. His brain just can't catch up, there are not words to describe what Hannibal is doing to his mental state without even being present. This is just a part of Hannibal's game to keep you off balance, he thinks to himself. It doesn't reassure him at all.

It really just fills him with dread about the inevitability of this situation.

Wiping his palms on his threadbare jeans, he walks to the man holding the sign. Quickly, before he loses his nerve, Will states haltingly, "Hello, I'm Will Graham." He doesn't meet the man's eyes.

The man smiles brightly, “Ah Signore, follow me please.” He beckons Will, and Will follows while not even know why he is doing so.

Will isn't sure why he is doing anything anymore.

The car ride passes in silence. They go thorough small side streets, and out of the main areas of Florence, into the less touristy parts, where the residents that call the city home reside. The buildings look much the same, beautiful and grandiose, but wholly unfamiliar to Will who is much more used to the more sterile cities of the United States. Finally the car stops in front of an older stone building, an older, but very upscale looking hotel, with a doorman out front.

Will rolls his shoulders and then walks inside.

* * *

Hannibal is taunting him. Will knows this for certain. This whole affair is just a game to him and Will still isn't sure why he's decided to give in and play Hannibal's twisted games again. Yet here he is, half a world away from home, in a city where he doesn't speak the language, stumbling blindly after the bread crumbs that Hannibal leave gift wrapped for him. For Christ’s sake, he is staying in a hotel room that Hannibal had arranged for him before his plane had even landed.

Will wonders how long he will survive this. He knows that Hannibal is just distracting himself with this little game of cat and mouse. Will knows he probably won't survive this chase.

Everything from the toiletries that were lined up in neat rows on the bathroom sink, to the color of the bedspread, a deep sapphire blue, reminds Will of the Hannibal that he had thought he knew well. The Hannibal that was refined and reserved; the Hannibal that cared about Will Graham. Instead of being comforting, these innocuous items fill Will with a sense of abiding disease. He runs his hand over the sheets as he turns down the bedspread. They have a higher thread count than anything Will's calloused fingers have ever come into contact with before. They aren't something he would have chosen for his own self. They are exactly what Hannibal would choose though.

The next day, after Will has had the chance the sleep, he plans to visit the kinds of places he thinks that Hannibal would enjoy. Perhaps some museums. He may even try to get tickets to some kind of musical event that Hannibal would enjoy, for some night later in the week. He's got nothing but free time, after all. The only responsibility that Will has left now is catching Hannibal.

Will Graham sees nothing but stars behind his eyelids as he falls deeply asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

He doesn't sleep deeply for long, instead he dreams fitfully.

You're ten feet under water, and I can still make out your wavy face. A little hazy, yes, but you are still, and that look of surprise is frozen on your face.

He stands above, a benevolent god, and watches you slip deeper under the water.

He remembers the feeling of his hands around your throat.

Your face growing blue.

"Yes, killing can indeed feel good," the devil whispers in his ear.

Will jolts awake, sitting up in bed. His shirt is soaked, like he was the one underwater in his dream, even though he wasn't. He pulls the offending shirt off and tosses it away from the bed before lying back down.

He doesn't sleep well for the rest of the night. Instead he lies between the decadent sheets and tries very carefully to keep his mind blank.

The night passes very slowly for Will as he counts the ticks of the clock.

Tick . . . Tock . . . Tick . . . Tock . . .

The sound seems to be mocking him.


	2. The Second Package

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's in Florence now, and his search begins, but first, he wakes up to another package waiting on him in his room, left for him while he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected. I apologize, I'm a terrible procrastinator, and I end up doing other things like playing video games instead of working on my writing. Plus I ended up caught up in trying to finish my Hannibang entry, which will be posted next Saturday. But yay, next chapter of this story! I'm thinking there might only be maybe two or three more chapters to this story, but we will see as I sit down and finish them. Also, I'm so sorry that this is a fairly short chapter, this spot just seemed like a good spot to stop considering what I have planned for the next chapter.

Will suddenly wakes and bolts upright in bed knocking the blanket and sheet to the floor. Something is different. He fumbles for his glasses on the bedside table, as he squints at the dim room.

Then he sees it.

Another brown paper wrapped package is sitting on the table by the door.

It wasn't there when he laid down. It wasn't there when he woke up in the middle of the night from another restless sleep filled with strange nightmares, but it's there now.

Sitting innocently, taunting him with the knowledge that someone has been in the room while he was sleeping.

Will feels like he is sleepwalking as he gets up from the bed. Will feels like there is a thin layer of plastic between him and the rest of the world. He hesitantly reaches out and trails his fingers over the package so he can make sure that it is actually there, so he can make sure that he is not still dreaming.

It is solid under his hands.

The box is really there.

Will's breathing starts to speed up. He feels like he isn't getting enough air, even though he keeps greedily sucking in oxygen. If he could just stop panicking maybe he could breathe, but his heart is pounding, and he can't stop. Black dots start to float in front of his eyes, and his knees give out.

He hits the floor with a solid thunk, and his hands reach out to grasp at his hair, tugging sharply. The pain focuses him.

His breathing starts to calm. The black spots recede. He doesn't move yet, though. Instead he just looks at the package. The whole world seems to be mocking him since he started this fool's errand. He's still not exactly sure why he allowed Hannibal to goad him into this.

Will gets up off the floor and reaches for the package again. His hands shakily start to tear away the brown paper.

Underneath the brown paper there is a glossy white and gold box. Will shudders as he starts to pull the lid off, visions of human hearts and severed limbs playing a macabre sideshow in his mind, but the contents are not what he was expecting at all.

Instead of something horrible, all Will sees is creamy white fabric looking sinfully soft in the box. Puzzled he pulls out a soft, cashmere maybe, turtleneck sweater. It looks to be exactly his size. His fingers wondrously stroke the fine material. The rough skin of his fingers catch on the material as he strokes it. This is definitely something that he would have never have purchased for himself. He can tell that this sweater is something that at no point in his life he could have afforded to purchase for himself.

His sits the sweater off to the side and peers down into the box again. Something else is nestled carefully inside under where the sweater was. Will pulls the item out. A pair of black dress slacks, obviously picked to go along with the sweater. The outfit looks like something out of GQ magazine, not at all what Will would have picked for himself, but checking the sizes they both look like they would fit him perfectly.

The last item in the box is another heavy vellum card, just like the one that sent him on this insane trip. He opens it, and sees Hannibal's elegant scrawl one more.

“My dear boy, I hope you are enjoying my gifts to you. Here is another, for when you are out sightseeing in beautiful Florence. I saw this sweater in a small boutique, and I thought you would look delicious in it. I noticed you were not sleeping peacefully when I delivered this package, what do you dream of now? Do you dream of me still?”

Will drops the card from nerveless fingers and picks the sweater back up. He runs his fingers thoughtfully against the fabric. Hannibal always knew the right buttons to push, didn't he? He's not going to let whatever games Hannibal is running distract him. He is here to find Hannibal, and this is confirmation that Hannibal is indeed still in the city of Florence.

 

* * *

 

Will leaves his hotel morning freshly showered and dressed in the outfit that Hannibal had left for him. He's not sure what impulse led him to wear it, but it's a nice outfit. It's comfortable, even if it's not something he would have picked out for himself.

Will doesn't have much of a plan in mind yet, so he's just decided to go into the city and wander around. He's not on a schedule, and he thinks that visiting the types of places that Hannibal would be interested in might help him to find him. Perhaps he might even purchase tickets to an opera. He knows that Hannibal loves opera, and he doubts that fact has changed.

Will's wandering feet take him to a busy shopping district with small cafes lining the streets. His stomach makes itself known by rumbling discontentedly at Will over the breakfast he had been too unnerved to eat when he'd woke up due to the package he'd found in his room. Will alters his rambling path and instead heads toward one of the cafes. He is not paying any attention to his surroundings, solely focused on a simple goal, a goal he can reach, so he absentmindedly walks straight into an older man wearing a rumpled suit and knocks him to the ground.

“Uhhh, sorry,” he offers the man a hand to help him up.

“Watch where you are going,” is the only reply Will gets before the man glares at him and walks off.

 

* * *

 

 

Rinaldo Pazzi sneers as he walks away from the rude tourist, he hates the tourist season, and the idiocy it brings to his home. He has more important things on his mind than rude Americans who cannot watch where they are going. He is late for a meeting with the assistant curator at the Capponi Library, Dr. Fell, who he hopes will have some clue about the recent disappearance of the head curator. As soon as he finishes that, he will be able to go home and spend time with his lovely wife.

 

* * *

 

 

The cafe is busy, Will is shown to a small table outside facing the street. It's the perfect spot to sit and watch people as they pass by unaware. He wonders if he will become miraculously lucky and spot Hannibal among the anonymous masses passing by unaware. He's doubtful. That's not the sort of thing that happens to him. He orders coffee and the daily special from the waitress and just watches as people pass by.

 

He doesn't know, but the gentleman in the corner behind him, wearing a white fedora and a grin, hidden by the fronds of a decorative plant, is the man that he is searching for, watching him. Hannibal is enjoying the sight of the normally plainly dressed Will wearing the stylish items that Hannibal had gifted to him. The soft cashmere sweater clung to Will's lean body, adding an elegance that plaid flannel and ill fitting tweed normally hid. Hannibal hopes that Will's willingness to wear the clothing meant that he had thrown away the disgusting cologne that he usually wore, and had replaced it with the much more pleasant smelling one Hannibal had sent as well.

 

Unaware, Will ravenously devours the food that was brought to his table, enjoying the panini, filled with salty ham and Parmesan cheese, that his waitress had brought to him. Cool pieces of melon compliment the flavors of the dish surprisingly well, and the juice from the fruit drips down his fingers as he savors each bite he takes of the food. Will has always had problems with taste, especially his thoughts, but right now in the open air and bright sunlight of Florence, his regular lack of appetite has dissipated. He sips contented at the tiny cup of espresso that he had ordered and continues to placidly watch the city as it passes him by.

 

Hannibal watches Will's body language carefully; he is utterly relaxed, and it is a welcome change for Hannibal to observe. He was too used to seeing Will looking uncomfortable in his own skin, discomforted at the people that surrounded him. Here, where Hannibal has carefully coaxed him, he looks almost contented. It is a good look on Will Graham's handsome face, instead of the drawn discomfort he had almost always displayed in the past.

 

* * *

 

 

Will eventually leaves the cafe and continues to wander the city on foot. He wanders past museums and libraries, making a mental note to himself that these would be the right type of places to search for Hannibal in, but the weight that he has been carrying for so long seems distant today, and he finds himself walking around the city looking at the statues and fountains. He has no destination in mind for himself today, so he just goes where his feet take him.

 

He spends hours wandering the city, before he decides he's extremely tired. He's so exhausted he thinks that he could fall into a deep sleep, untroubled by his frequent nightmares. Will can't remember the last time he felt like he could sleep without dreaming. He certainly can't remember the last time he didn't dread the thought of sleep.

 

Something about this beautiful city, is changing him, and Will believes that he might actually welcome the change.


	3. The Third Package

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another wonderful day in Florence for Will. Another package from Hannibal to leads Will to question Hannibal's intentions further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, I'm glad people are seeming to like this self indulgent fluff? Cause this is entirely self indulgent fluff for me. I need something with a happy ending or I'm gonna lose my mind. Hope you enjoy descriptions of clothes and straight razor shaves?

When Will's feet finally lead him back to his hotel room after his day of wandering the city alone, he is so exhausted that he immediately collapses into the bed, not bothering to undress beyond kicking his shoes off. He just falls face first onto the bed, and doesn't even bother to pull the covers over himself. Almost immediately, he falls into a deep sleep, the sleep of the exhausted, because he's not sure when the last time he actually felt like sleeping was. It was usually a chore to complete to keep his body running.

He dreams.

He dreams, but for once his dreams are not quite the nightmares he is used to experiencing.

Instead, he dreams that he is back in Hannibal's stately home in Baltimore. This dream is a memory. He _remembers_ this day. This is a normal day, no cases, just the two of them passing the time together. Hannibal had said something strangely poetic to him that day, Will can't remember the exact phrasing, but the words had seemed so important to him that day.

All Will had wanted to do that day, was reach over and touch Hannibal Lecter, to show him how much Will cared, how important this place, this haven, was for Will. He didn't.

Yet, this is a dream, and even though Will knows that this is not how this day actually went, he moves and the day is diverging. He reaches out. He touches Hannibal's arm, to still him, and leans forward and kisses him.

The kiss is electric, Will knows this is only a dream, but he leans closer and sighs when Hannibal's arms move to wrap around him. Before Will knows what is up or down, Hannibal has neatly maneuvered him to lay down on the couch in the sitting room. They continue to lazily explore each others mouths, with not urgency, only comfort.

Hannibal pulls away from Will and whispers in his ear, “Do you dream of me still?”

* * *

 

Will wakes up. He reaches up gently to touch his lips, chapped, dry, and untouched.

Just a dream.

Just like he'd thought. He rolls over and curls up in a ball, arms wrapped around himself, and quickly falls back asleep.

He doesn't notice the new package sitting on the side table, waiting for him.

* * *

 

Hannibal leaves the hotel through a side entrance, gloating to himself about his stolen kiss from Will. He wonders if Will will enjoy today's gift? It will certainly look enticing on him. Hannibal anticipates the chance to see Will clad in it.

* * *

 

The next morning, Will wakes again, to the streaming of the sun through his room's windows. He blinks lazily and rubs the sleep from his eyes. He hasn't slept as well as he'd slept last night in years, maybe even since he was a baby. Something about this city, is lifting weight he didn't even know that he'd been carrying along with him. He rolls over to glance at the table by the door. He is not actually surprised to see another box waiting there for him to open. Of course there is one, the only questions about it now are what it contains and whether or not Hannibal is the one delivering them or if he's just bribed some random hotel employee to do it for him.

Some small part of Will hopes that it's Hannibal.

At least he knows Hannibal, even after all of these years, he knows Hannibal still. He knows the sheer arrogance, the pride, the hard won smiles, the man that had actually cared about him, and the monster that murdered the “rude” and then ate their organs. All pieces of the same man, parts of the whole, contributing to a man who committed atrocities, but seemed to actually care for Will none the less. He even seemed to care when he grabbed the linoleum knife and plunged it into Will's side, carving him open like one of the fancy dishes he had so preferred to cook.

Besides, if he considers it, Will knows that Hannibal wouldn't leave such a key part of his game to another to complete.

This time, when he removes the lid of the box, instead of feeling overwhelming fear and panic overtaking him, Will feels a strange sense of anticipation. He wants to know what item Hannibal has decided that Will needed to own.

Hannibal's taste is as impeccable as always, folded neatly inside the box is another sweater, this time black and gray, with a v-neck. A much thicker knit, than the one from the day before, but still impossibly soft to the touch. Underneath that a neat white dress shirt is folded up, and to complete the ensemble another pair of black slacks are placed in the box. The outfit looks as if it had came straight from between the glossy pages of some men's fashion magazine, carefully curated and incredibly expensive.

Will shakes his head in amusement; he can tell that Hannibal's tastes haven't been changed at all by his time incarcerated. He always did love luxury and the finer things in life and it seems that he's using his time free to once again indulge himself.

Hannibal is certainly following a formula with these boxes, perhaps trying to mold Will into a man closer to Hannibal's own self. Somehow, Will's not surprised at all by this, and maybe he's secretly glad. He would never admit it to anyone, but he is. These presents mean that at the very least, Hannibal's game probably won't end in Will's death. They mean something else. These are not the kind of things you would send to a man you plan to kill.

The note, of course there's a note, there's been one with every package so far, is handwritten again. In Hannibal's neat scrawl the words, “My Mongoose, I saw you yesterday while you wandered around the city. You looked quite handsome in the clothing I had picked out for you, I was indeed glad to see you dressed in them. After seeing how exquisite the sweater flattered you, I could not pass by this one when I saw it yesterday. I hope that you will wear it today. Also, dear Will, if I might make a suggestion, please stop by Parrucchiere Per Uomo, on Via Turnabuoni between the Cartier and Stefano Ricci stores. They are the best barbershop in the city. You are most in need of a shave and a haircut, you are looking rather scruffy these days.”

Of course, Hannibal would complain about his stubble and messy hair. Since Molly had left him, Will hadn't been putting much care into his appearance. It's not like there was anyone in his life who cared. Hell, it's not like after she left that there was anyone at all left in his life anymore. He was too broken for Alana, and he had refused to bring himself to _look_ for Jack Crawford and the FBI again.

* * *

 

Will walks out into the city again, this time allowing himself to head towards the shop that Hannibal had recommended in his note. If nothing else, maybe he can question the employees and they will know something about Hannibal. Perhaps a location, anything to help him find Hannibal again.

He's wearing the clothing Hannibal sent. He owns nothing else that would blend in to the extreme wealth of the upper class area that Hannibal suggested he visit today. It'll be easier to question people if Will doesn't look out of place. That's the only reason Will is willing to admit to himself for giving in so easily to the pricey gifts that Hannibal keeps sending him.

* * *

 

The shop was unmarked. There was no sign, no stereotypical barbershop pole to mark it's location. Honestly, if Hannibal hadn't told him it was there, Will would have walked by the door thinking it was an access door to one of the shops, instead of a business entrance itself. He pushes the door open and walks in, to be greeted by an audaciously loud call of “Giorno,” from the two men working inside.

One of the men is older, and he is busy giving what looks to be a businessman a haircut, but his hands move impossibly quickly, pulling tufts of hair up at random and snipping them off with no visible rhyme or reason for why he decided to cut that particular piece of hair. The younger man working looks Will over, from his scuffed leather loafers to the impeccable outfit that Hannibal had chosen for Will to wear that day to finally his scruffy face. “Ah, you are the _Dottore's_ young man! He mentioned he was going to send you in soon.” He waves Will to sit in the empty chair near him. 

“The Dottore?” Will's tongue stumbles over the unfamiliar syllables, “Do you know him well? Can you tell me where he is?” Will is eager, this is someone that obviously knows Hannibal, they probably don't know him as Hannibal, but it's more than Will had to go on before.

“Ah, Dottore Fell comes regularly for me to shave! He says I am the best barber in the entire city.” He pats the chair gently, as if he is trying to lure a wary dog to come closer to him. “I will show you.” Will sits down gingerly in the chair and allows the man to pull his head back. A scalding hot towel is placed over his face, he flinches from the unexpected heat, but starts to relax almost immediately. Static seems to start playing inside his head disconnecting him from the world again. The damp cloth against his face has cooled down, no longer scalding, and then it's taken off of him. 

He smells the scent of sandalwood and lavender before the barber starts to vigorously rub a creamy foam against his skin with a coarse brush. It seems to go on for hours, even though in reality it was only ten minutes of so. The barber turns around and sits down the brush and foam, and picks something up. When he faces Will again, Will sees that it is a gleaming straight razor held in the man's hand. He tilts Wills face to his liking, and then brings the blade down, with a warning of, “Please be still, wouldn't want to hurt you.” Will stops breathing, and the first scrape of the blade deftly goes from the base of Will's throat to his chin, gliding deftly over his adam's apple. 

Will sighs as the blade pulls away and relaxes, this man can do his job well. He knows that Hannibal wouldn't allow someone who couldn't near him with such a wickedly sharp implement. Hannibal only chooses the best for himself, and this man probably wouldn't be alive if his skills were lacking. The blade slides against his skin over and over, taking off the coarse hairs of the beard that Will's five o'clock shadow had turned into in his deep depression since Molly's departure. Another scalding hot towel is placed over Will's face, soothing the now entirely bare skin. 

When the towel is removed, Will looks at himself in the mirror. The shave has taken years off of his face. He sees himself, and he looks like a young man again. A man who could be confident and handsome, well dressed and self assured, the things that Will doesn't think he's ever been in his whole life. 

In the reflection of the mirror, Will can see the stag standing tall behind him, watching.

He shakes himself, and the illusion disappears. “You did do a good job.” He looks over that the barber, “How much do I owe you?” 

“Not done yet, sir,” the barber shakes his head, “Dottore Fell specifically requested that you get a trim as well.” He smiles slyly, “I think he is planning a big date for you tonight, aren't you excited?”

“A date?” Will stumbles over the words again, but this time it is not the unfamiliar syllables of a language he does not speak twisting his tongue, but the laughable idea of Hannibal Lecter, taking him on a date. No matter what Hannibal's endgame it, Will doesn't think that is it.

“He's been so excited about you coming to visit, would not stop talking about you. The doctor says you are a brilliant mind, and that you used to work for the FBI in the states.”  
“I was a teacher, nothing more.”

“So modest, he said you helped to put away many criminals.” The barber begins to snip at Will's curls. He works as quickly as his older counterpart did on the other man in the shop. “I think the doctor is utterly besotted with you.”

Will doesn't have a response that statement. Hannibal never cared, not about Will, not like that. Hannibal just saw Will as a toy to wind up and watch him go, a diversion, nothing more. Small tufts of hair continue to fall to the floor and Will watches them float to the ground instead of talking more. 

“Ah, there,” the barber twists the chair and Will is once again facing his reflection. There's not a huge difference in his hair, but subtly it looks neater than before. His curls look tamed and more defined, with the shaved face and the hair now Will looks like he fits into the outfit that Hannibal had chosen for him. “You look very handsome. Doctor Fell will be pleased when he sees you.” He starts to straighten the area, sweeping up the discared locks of hair. “You owe nothing, by the way, the Dottore took care of everything for you, but he did leave a message for you. He said you should head back to your rooms, you have a surprise waiting on you there.”

Will's mind blanks. This doesn't sound like the type of surprise he wants. He's afraid to know, he fears another crime, perfectly tailored to set him up again. Will bursts out of the shop and begins to run back to his hotel.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr! pinkglitterygoth.tumblr.com


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